


push your luck

by Lizzen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Lingerie, Possessive Behavior, Spies & Secret Agents, Virgin Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 17:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14337636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: “You’ll have kill me, Rey,” he says. “That’s the only way you’re leaving this room. That’s the only way you can leave me again.”She smiles then; something fierce and unexpected and terrifying. “I’m not afraid of you, Kylo,” she says. Her face is turned up towards him, a sunflower towards the sun, and her hand grips his arm. “And I don’t have to kill you.” He can feel her resolve, sudden and strong.Her mouth nears his, inches away from-- from--“I just have to distract you,” she says, gentle as a breeze, and suddenly her lips are pressed against his.





	push your luck

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2018 Lingerie Wars Week](https://lingeriewarsweek.tumblr.com/) for Day 2 - April 17th - Romantic Red

An attendant, young and a little star struck, takes him to his rooms for the night. It’s a high end establishment on Kollen, a world desperate to rival Coruscant in trade. Desperate to appeal to the First Order’s needs for ships, weapons, supplies, and pleasures.

The boy makes promises about coffee and breakfast in the morning, about complete silence whilst the Supreme Leader sleeps, about the availability of anything he could possibly desire in a moment’s notice. The usual. Kylo swallows a groan and misses the spartan life of being Snoke’s apprentice; not this indulgent lifestyle he’s haphazardly stumbled into.

The door opens, and Kylo takes a look at the high ceilings, the rich furnishings, and the famous artwork on the walls. There’s fruit and a bottle of sparkling wine on the table near the ‘fresher. He hums, and nods that the attendant should leave, leave him alone with this decadence. All of which he will ignore, find solace in sleep.

“And if you don’t like her,” the attendant says, before closing the door behind him. “Just ring. We have several more available.”

That’s when he sees a leg -- he breathes out steadily, his heart becoming a drum -- a woman’s leg bent and beautiful against white sheets.

“I’m sorry--” he starts, looking away sharply. His anger builds; this is an unexpected nuisance and he--

In accented Basic: “No, I’m the one who is--” And she stops. Gasps, and he hears the rustling of a body against linens. Also: “fuck,” he hears, a quiet sound.

He opens up to the Force, a broad breadth of curiosity, and the surprise of truth hits him before he turns and sees it. Sees her.

Rey. Not wearing much but a slip of red silk. On his bed. Staring at him.

“I--” he starts.

“You were supposed to be Grand Moff Teins,” she says rapidly, her cheeks growing into such a pretty shade of pink.

“And _you_ were supposed to be--?” he says; shocked, startled.

She shrugs angrily. “What do you _think_ I was supposed to be?”

It is all very rich for his blood, he thinks, and stops himself before his hand lifts to straighten his collar. “This is beneath you,” he whispers, feeling raw and awkward inside.

“This was the easiest way to access him, he has specific tastes,” she says evenly, her legs -- such a breathtaking stretch of skin -- slip over the side of the bed and in moments she’s in arms reach. “But I’m no honeypot. I wasn’t going to-- well. You know.” She stands as straight as a grand admiral and the blood red silk covering very little of her sways from her movement.

“I--” he says intelligently. He realizes then how little he understands about rebel intelligence. Teins is the perfect mark, to be sure. But--

It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the _Supremacy_ and this setting is quite unexpected. He’s not quite sure how to react.

Frankly, he imagined to see her next on a battlefield; the blue of her saber strong at her side, and her body fully clothed.

Frankly, any imaginings of her this-- this-- _bare_ were seductive slices of dreams he wished to forget. _Did_ forget until this moment.

When his eyes focus on hers, on her piercing stare, he withers a little. Still: “What the rebels have reduced you to,” he says; not with a sneer but with considerable shock. “You-- their champion.”

“You don’t realize how much Teins knows,” she hisses. “I would have been ten steps closer to a chance at crippling the First Order if there hadn’t been this-- this mix up.”

He looks down on her, standing as tall as he can. “Instead you’re here, next to me.” Her eyes narrow but don’t look away. He’s distracted, gazing at the curve of her neck, her throat; he is yet unable to look at what’s bared beneath it, but his thoughts are only of skin against red against skin against red against-- Then it occurs to him: “You’re unarmed,” he says. “How easily I could--”

She raises an eyebrow so high that it’s almost comical. “You could what?” she interrupts.

His imperious reaction matches hers. “I won’t let you escape,” he says.

“It’s not up to you,” she says, pushing in towards him. So close that he can smell the sweet perfume she’s wearing. This, this image of her is _not her_ , he knows. And yet, oh, how his body betrays his resolve to just see her as a strange dance partner in the Force, and as-- as his enemy.

He leans in closer, his skin yearning to touch hers. There’s a dark expanse of want that overwhelms him, makes him dizzy. He can feel her body heat, sense her through the Force as this powerful creature that haunts his dreams, haunts his steps. It’s almost too much-- it _is_ \--

Quietly. “You’ll have kill me, Rey,” he says. “That’s the only way you’re leaving this room. That’s the only way you can leave me again.”

She smiles then; something fierce and unexpected and terrifying. “I’m not afraid of you, Kylo,” she says. Her face is turned up towards him, a sunflower towards the sun, and her hand grips his arm. “And I don’t have to kill you.” He can feel her resolve, sudden and strong.

Her mouth nears his, inches away from-- from--

“I just have to distract you,” she says, gentle as a breeze, and suddenly her lips are pressed against his.

Truth be told, Kylo has never been kissed by a woman before. This is his first time; the press of another’s mouth to his, not tentative but firm. Her lips touching his with a simple surety. His heart races so fast as he opens his mouth, desperate to deepen the kiss but she pulls away.

His senses are flooded but he expands the reach of his mind to absorb as much as he can from her; what is she feeling, what is her plan, what is this, why is this, how can this be-- no, and yes, and _when will she kiss me again_.

Her fingers are still digging into the skin above his elbow and her fingernails bite. “You think I’m unarmed now?” she whispers, and his entire body shudders from the knowledge, from this truth.

And she-- she moves in closer, her body flush against his, and her mouth lifts to-- to---

He can’t bear it. His hands immediately grip her waist, pulling her up even higher to better meet him, to reach a better angle, as he opens his mouth to kiss her with a burning intent.

The swipe of her tongue against his lower lip, the heat of her breath against his skin. The sighs she makes, the twist of her body in his arms. Intoxicating, incomprehensible; eradicating all coherent thought.

He’s always found pleasure to be something to ignore; unimportant to the daily routine, unimportant to his life’s goals.

And here he is, hard as can be, pressed up against the woman he covets. There’s nothing between his hands and her skin but a slip of silk and a failing willpower to stay steady. It’s a rush.

Still: he can’t do this without-- without _knowing_ \-- so he opens himself up in the Force as wide as he can, hoping to sense even an echo of her feelings, her resolve.

He’s immediately battered with a wall of desire, hale and hearty. And: real, truthful, not an act. It’s enough to drive a man mad. His mouth moves to her neck, leaving sucking kisses on the skin he finds. And focusing on her feeling, he notes that there’s something like relief radiating out of her; a sigh in her lungs, a softening in her limbs, a silence in her ears.

“You--” he starts.

“I don’t--” she interrupts and then she kisses him again; wet, filthy kisses that make his toes curl, make his knees weak, make his arms encircle her so fully that he lifts her into the air, and takes her to the bed.

He’s not quite-- quite sure of his absolute intent. He’s not sure if he could--

He just wants to touch her everywhere. And she’s letting him. By everything that is good in this forsaken galaxy, she’s keening into the air as he softly runs his fingers along her inner thigh, pushing up beyond the silk to her--

Truth be told, he knows very little about how this works.

“Talk to me,” he says feeling unsteady. Feeling unsure. _A dream_ , he thinks. _This is some strange dream._ And as he waits for her, he thinks: _When I wake from this, what damage will have been done?_

She gets up on her elbows and for the first time, he allows himself to stare, to see the peak of her breast loose from the silk while the other stays tantalizingly hidden. It’s an expensive garment, finely made with lace so soft to the touch. He’s torn between leaving it on her, or feeling it, hearing it as it tears in his hands. Shows him the expanse of skin beneath it. He gasps out, overwhelmed.

“If you’re going to fuck me, fuck me,” she says, watching him very carefully. “I’m not saying no.”

His dick, to be honest, twinges at the thought, at the flooding of images in his mind’s eye, at the concept of burying himself deep inside of her as she looks up at him with--

“This is a distraction,” he says. “You’re not--”

“I am,” she says simply. And she leans her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “If I can ask for something--”

“Anything,” he says too fast; in over his head, in too deep.

When her head moves and he sees her gaze again, sees how dark her eyes are, he shivers. “I’d like you to be wearing less,” she says, her voice an even sound.

Kylo hasn’t scrambled out of his clothes faster in his life. He gets caught up in them, but she lays still on the bed, up on her elbows, watching him with something akin to hunger. Not helping him at all.

When there’s a pool of black on the floor and he’s in his underclothes, she does get up, stands close. She hasn’t bothered to adjust her slip, half falling off her at this point. He opens up again, listening for her resolve, her consent. Desire hits him in his gut, almost doubling him over. She wants him, and he can feel it like a battering ram. _Why_ , he thinks miserably, _why_ , and then her hand is tugging on his, pulling him close so she can rid him of the last shreds of clothing he wears.

There’s a pleased look on her face as she surveys him, and he feels weak for her. “I’m not afraid,” she echoes, looking up at him with danger in her eyes. And that’s when he knows, _he knows_ , he is terrified.

Her lips meet his again with a rough, ragged kind of kiss. And her hand takes his, drags it up to her breast, leaves it there. He squeezes experimentally, and she chuckles. “I’m not a porcelain doll, Ben.”

They both flinch from the shock of the name, of the sentiment implied. He blinks and she looks at him, unsteady in her gaze for the first time that evening. Gauging him.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

She breathes in slowly, and then: “Ben.”

Something shifts in his heart and he’s kissing her with such a wildness that she gasps. It’s moments before he realizes they’re tangled on the bed, his leg shoved between hers and his tongue running along her neck as she writhes in his arms. They linger there, a mess of limbs and hands and touches and raw heat.

Somehow, in some way, she adjusts so that his hand can finish what he started earlier, finish drawing lines up her thigh to the space between her legs where-- _oh fuck_ , he thinks -- she’s soft and wet. He’s a novice with a vague clue, but at his wild stare, she helps him; takes his hand and presses it up against her clit. “Ben,” she says even softer, and her back arches slightly.

It’s there that he focuses for several moments, wishes to linger further, but his curiosity gets the better of him. His fingers find her sex and he pushes in with wonder. Her eyes roll back and her mouth opens, letting out a puff of air. He freezes, two fingers deep, and all he can think about is how beautiful she is.

Finally, her hips jut and she makes an impatient sigh. With resolve, he begins to fuck her with his fingers. His entire body shakes when she closes her eyes and demands: “harder.” His dick aches and his skin seems to be on fire, and his fingers pump in and out of her sex with a precise and firm rhythm.

Curious still, he finds himself reaching for her breast, his fingers pinching lightly at her pebbling nipple. She rams her hips against his ministrations then, urging him to go faster. He does, and continues the act; fucking and caressing and watching her. Her, the woman he--

It startles him when it happens. She grabs his wrist, she cries out, and the walls of her sex crash so hard against his fingers that it’s hard to continue their movement. _Oh_ , he thinks with an aching softness. _Oh_.

Her sex clenches against his fingers once more before she wriggles out from his embrace. Gets on all fours and stares at him. “Get on your back,” she demands and he’s on his back within seconds. She climbs on top of him and her kisses return in a bountiful manner. But, he can barely pay them attention as her sex, wet and sensitive, is now pressing against his. He grinds against her, which is a mistake because he can only groan out in longing as a result. She bites at his neck in response before leaving a mark.

“Can we--” he starts, wanting to say something first but she’s moved, she’s sinking on top of him and everything seems to white out behind his eyes.

She fucks like she fights; insatiable, tenacious. Unyielding. All he can do is try to keep up.

His mind is raw and open, and he senses her all around him; filling him up, overwhelming him with her presence. In this moment, he would do whatever she asked of him. He would give up everything just to be what she wanted him to be.

It’s over too soon; a man has a weakness. The world tilts on its axis as he spills into her, gasping out her name as he does. The brutal barrage of pleasure ripping through him startles and consumes as it goes; ruining any ideas of posturing after this. He’s hers now and hers irrevocably.

She seems to know as she looks down at him with a regal expression; not haughty or cruel, but serene and confident.

There are kisses then, as his dick softens inside of her, the kind of sweet kisses that lovers give and receive. Everytime he attempts to say something, she makes him swallow it as her lips meet his. Something sad is building in her; he can feel it. Feel it impact his own state. Pulling him away from bliss to a sense of--

Her hand reaches up and she extricates a long pin from the bun in her hair, mussed from their exertions. She smiles at him and there’s a sense of danger that tickles in the back of his mind.

“What now?” he breathes.

She runs her fingers through his hair. He can feel something like conflict in her rising. “Now, I escape,” she says.

He grabs her hand, the one holding the pin, and notices that her eyes are wet. “Don’t.” And then, as he listens to the racing of her heart through the Force, he adds: “ _Please_.”

Something seems to shatter inside of her and she drops the pin on the sheets. He takes it with his spare hand and hurls it across the room. “Goodnight spice?” he asks quietly and she nods, miserably.

“And they’re waiting downstairs to take me back, take me home,” she says.

“No,” he says, and his hand holds her tight. “You are home. With me.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Ben--”

“I said you weren’t leaving this room,” he attempts before she turns her head and shows him three more pins holding up her hair.

An impasse.

“What happens if you don’t show? What happens if--”

“They’d make their way to this room, guns blazing. As you said, I’m their champion.”

“Can I offer a truce, can I offer you--” and he thinks _anything to make you stay_.

She watches him with such a calculating stare; he feels weighed and measured. And yet hope-- hope is--

“You will give me a piece of vital information of which I will bring downstairs, tell them. Tell them the game has changed. Tell them to go home. And I will come back. Here. To you.” She holds her head up high but he can feel her tremble.

He opens his mouth and tells her the code for the First Order’s primary server; it’s something Teins would know, it’s something devastating in the hands of the rebels. He is surprised how little he cares, just knowing there is a chance that she might--

Her gaze is so intense that he wants to look away, desperately needs to look away. And then she’s up, off the bed, throwing on a bathrobe and shoes and disappearing out the door.

 _What have I done?_ he thinks.

He waits for ten minutes before remembering he could clean up the mess of their exertions. A shower follows, brief and cold. He then ambles absently by the fruit and eats a few morsels, surprised at their sweetness. There is a brief thought to soothe himself with the alcohol, but he is dazed enough.

In an aching passage of time, an hour's past. He changes into his sleeping clothes and gets back into the bed. It’s a mistake, because all he can smell is her and all he can think about is her.

A knock at the door ignites him; he sits up so violently that he is lightheaded. “Yes?” he says, and the door opens to reveal--

“Ben?” she says softly.

He’s out of bed holding her in his arms before the door closes.

 

 

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> I never imagined writing this kink, and yet, here we are. This was definitely inspired by the opening of Alias “Phase One.”
> 
> As always, thanks to my dearest th_esaurus for listening to me blather on about this; to fickle_obsessions for the gr8 advice; and mil besos to my inspirational girl gang on RFFA chat including the lovely Trish47, bittersnake, Melusine11, and MelodeeKS99.


End file.
